AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Tell me something, Sir Rowan. Something real. Something that isn’t fable or legend. I want to know about Rowan Dietrich, not the Black Wolf.”
Absently, she reached for her neck—for a necklace that was no longer there. When he gave no reply, she stared straight into his eyes, unblinking, her thumb and index fingers rotating the signet ring in circles.
Rowan leaned back in his seat and felt his pulse quicken. He glanced inwardly—into his past, into his losses, into his victories and heartaches. Through all those memories and secrets, it was a crisp blue gaze that called out to him.
Those eyes stared back at him… eyes that were wide and gentle yet held an intensity too great for their years. Eyes not so different from the ones looking at him now.
Blanchette stared at him from across the table while those other blue eyes stared at him from within. Both pairs seemed to implore and plead with him. He felt cornered, like a wolf backed against a wall.
So he did what he did best, the very thing that had kept him strong and in command all these years. He hardened his mind and heart, feeling a set of immaterial armor settle into place.
Securely. Resolutely. Completely.
“Rowan?” Blanchette said. Her soft voice swept over him like a summer breeze, and he felt it pulling at that armor. Rowan resisted it, guilt swarming him from the inside out.
Has she said my name before in that tone? Not one of hate—but of wonder and the slightest hint of compassion?
He couldn’t bear it.
“Why? Why must you know? Why should I waste my breath?” he snapped through a clenched jaw. His rising indignation fueled itself. He wasn’t accustomed to losing his composure, yet here he sat, undone by a slip of a girl. He clenched his hand, balling his fingers into a fist. “I brought you here to see the truth, and you’re still blind to it. There’s resilience, and then there’s plain stupidity. What would my mere words prove?”
She opened her mouth to speak, then quickly shut it. Those bright eyes danced across his face, examining every feature like he often studied battle plans. Finally, she spoke again. “Then answer me this. Why did you visit the chapel? And why did you help my governess with such… compassion?”
The simplicity of her question stunned him. He glanced about the tavern, observing the cheerful faces and the ebb and flow of the conversations.
Rowan had led more vanguards than he could recall. He’d stared death in the face just as many times. He’d endured wounds that tested his mortality, yet on this strange morning, he’d never felt so… small. So mortal. A shiver of fear ran through him.
He’d felt this depth of terror—yes, terror—only once before.
And now he felt again. While eating sweet cakes. In the middle of The Chatty Horse. Whilst lounging in a shaft of broad daylight.
Rowan folded his hands together, then leaned forward. He softened his voice to a whisper, allowing it to fill the space between them. “We don’t have to be enemies, Blanchette.”
She could be a powerful ally, Rowan thought, Edrick’s words racing through his mind. “We can be very close allies. Even friends.”
She grabbed her cup of ale and raised it to him before drinking. Whether it was in mockery, he could not say…
Eight
Edrick silently led Blanchette through the halls of the castle. Everywhere she looked, she found a hostile glance, an unfamiliar sigil, a tapestry depicting a world she’d never seen. Winslowe Castle had once been as familiar to her as the back of her hand; now, it resembled a prison, and its ancient stones were crushing her beneath their bulk.
A light rain fell outside and pitter-pattered all around her. Although it was a chilly night, the stone walls were warm to the touch. Hot water rushed through them like blood churning through a man’s veins. She laid her palms on the stones to better feel the pulse of her home.
“Keep up,” Edrick snapped, his drawn features made even more hostile. A few moments later, he stopped outside Rowan’s solar. “Not a move from you.” His heavy fist banged at the door. “My lord, Blanchette waits without.”
He never referred to her as a princess, she noticed. But was she even a princess any longer? She was the first and last of her name, a hostage in her own home.
The door flew open. The Black Wolf stood beneath the archway, his massive frame dominating the space. Smoke lurked just behind him. She heard the heavy fall of his paws as he crowded beside his master, those lantern-like eyes glowing. Rowan’s gaze flickered to her own, then found Edrick.
Blanchette stepped forward. Her heartbeat fluttered against her ribs, though she kept her voice steady. At least she hoped she did. “Sir… I am sorry to disturb you. I was hoping you might permit me to visit the chapel.” She gestured to Edrick. “He insisted I speak with you first.”
“The chapel?”
Blanchette swallowed and toyed with her signet ring. “Yes. I should like to pray tonight.” She glanced at Edrick. “Alone.”
All I need is a few moments alone.
“Sir? Show some respect. You are addressing the rightful king of Norland, girl. You?—”
